


Undone

by Prisoner24601



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prisoner24601/pseuds/Prisoner24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected attraction to the Grey Warden ambushes Anora at the most inconvenient time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Posted as a response to this request on the Dragon Age kmeme:
> 
>  _I imagine that with all the reading the mages have to do in the, seemly, dark Circle tower, some of them might need glasses. So after one too many times accidentally freezing her companions with Cone of Cold or a few too many Fireballs gone awry, the party decides that it's time to get their resident warden mage fitted with glasses.  
>  It just so happens that their lover likes them...a lot X3_
> 
> Any pairings are free game  
> OP preference to f!Surana for the Warden, but any mage will do :)

Anora was deeply vexed despite the fact that she had every reason to be pleased.

For the first time in over a year, she was regaining the political footing she'd lost after Cailan's death. Despite the rocky start and a gross miscalculation of the Grey Warden's intelligence (which had led to the unfortunate series of events sending both the mage and Maric's bastard temporarily to Fort Drakon), she had a finally found an ally in her quest to secure her throne. Marcus Amell was everything she could have hoped for: intelligent, canny and ruthlessly practical, and had already declared his support her for claim when Landsmeet was assembled in a few weeks time.

And yet she found herself at her wits end, not so much by anything the man had done, but by her completely inconvenient attraction to him. Anora's desire had ambushed her; a nasty shock to a woman who had long thought herself past such trivial and frivolous whims. Nothing had prepared her for the way he had crept into her thoughts. Worse, she was completely certain that the pull she felt toward the man was completely and utterly one sided. He was all stoic politeness, which should have been a relief, but instead made her insides knot as though she was a foolish young maiden instead of a woman of three decades.

It simply would not do. She was a Queen, a woman of intellect and reason, and a _Mac Tir._ She would conquer her wayward thoughts, just as soon as she could bring herself to stop staring at Amell's callused, ink stained hands and wondering what they would feel like gliding over her bare skin.

"What do you think, Anora?" Eamon said.

His words snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked. "I… I'm sorry, what?"

Eamon's bushy brows rose in surprise at her uncharacteristic inattentiveness, but it was the mage sitting next to her that spoke. Marcus frowned at her, his brown eyes crinkling with concern. "Are you well, m'lady?"

"I'm fine!" she protested a bit too strongly, instantly regretting her sharp tone to a man who had been nothing but accommodating to her. She sighed and touched her temple with the tips of her fingers. "I just… I suppose I am a bit tired."

"We should break for the day then," Eamon said as he rose from the chair.

"No!" She swallowed and pushed the frustration from her voice, evening out her tone. "No. This is important-"

Eamon reached across the table to give her hand a fatherly pat that both of them knew he did not mean. It was everything she could do to keep him from jerking her hand back. "It is all right, Anora. It will be two more weeks before the Landsmeet will be able to assemble fully. We will have plenty of time to plan our strategy."

He stood and turned to face the Warden. "Of course this would be much easier if you would consider my proposal as… an alternative."

Anora's spine stiffened, but her face remained blank. She had not expected Eamon to desist his quest to put Maric's bastard on the throne, but she had not expected him to be so blatant either. That he was daring to do so in front of her, even in veiled terms, was a sign of just how precarious her position truly was.

"Perhaps you are right, Arl Eamon." The Grey Warden paused, and for a heartbeat Anora couldn't breathe. Eamon's eyes practically gleamed in triumph as the Warden rose from his seat. "I think now would be an excellent time to break for the day."

It took all of Anora's self control to keep the satisfaction from her face. Eamon's lips turned down as though he had swallowed something sour. He pinned the Grey Warden with something that was just short of a glare, before dropping a curt nod.

"Of course. Rest will do us all good and hopefully allow us to see the situation more clearly in the morning. Good evening." Eamon turned his gaze to her. "Anora," he said, her name dripping with all of his thwarted frustration.

They watched Eamon leave in silence. When the door closed behind the Arl, the Grey Warden frowned and sat down again. "He speaks highly of your abilities and yet takes every opportunity to undermine your authority."

That Marcus had seen through Eamon's constant attempts made her like him even more, but still she chose her words with care. "Eamon is a traditionalist. He wishes to see the Theirin bloodline on the throne and he is willing to do much to accomplish his goal."

Marcus's frown deepened. "Including pushing your husband to put you aside."

Anora's eyes widened. Her surprise was followed by the sting of failure that always followed when she thought about her marriage to Cailan. "How did you know?"

He turned his gaze to her. "We passed through Ostagar a few months back and found a letter from Eamon to the King."

"I see," she said softly. "He was close to doing it. He never talked about it to me, but I could tell." She looked down at her twisting hands in her lap, mortified that this man should be witness to such a personal shame. "They blamed me for the lack of children, you see."

Something dark and dangerous flashed across Amell's broad features as he spoke. It made her shiver, until she realized it was not directed at her. "Of course they did. You were his lowborn wife."

"For all I know, they were right," she admitted. "Although as far as I could tell there were never any children from any of his dalliances." She'd kept track of as many as she could. Another humiliation, but a necessary task nonetheless.

Anora took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "But that is all in the past, and now I must work with Eamon the best that I can."

He looked at her with that unnerving thoughtful gaze and nodded his approval. With a start, she realized that Amell's opinion mattered to her. It was another vexing thought, somehow more disturbing than the purely physical attraction she felt.

"I am grateful that you haven't changed your mind," she added. "For a moment, I thought you had."

His tone grew rueful. "Sorry about that. I confess that I do not like the man. He has hurt people that I care about very much."

Anora knew that he must be speaking of Alistair. It had become obvious within moments of watching the men together that they were as close as brothers. Except that with the way he was looking at her so intently, it seemed like more. Like he meant her as well. But he couldn't mean that, so Anora shoved that ridiculous thought aside as the foolish product of wishful thinking.

"But I have given you my word that I will help you regain your throne," he continued. "I mean to stand by it."

"Thank you," she said, wondering if she could truly trust this man the way that she wanted to.

"You seem surprised. Is it that difficult to believe?" His lips twitched. "After all, you argued so vehemently for it, and made very compelling case. It would have been very convincing, if I hadn't already decided to support your claim even before we even met."

Once again, the mage had taken her completely by surprise. "You did?"

"M'lady, you did the hard work of ruling this nation for five years, while your husband rode about on his steed in his golden armor. Your reputation is well known and your skill is appreciated by people who are not fools."

She simply blinked at him and for the first time in years she could feel the heat of her cheeks staining pink. Overwhelmed, it took her a few seconds to put words into a coherent sentence. "It has been a long time since anyone has appreciated or recognized the work that I've done." She sighed softly. "Or actually listened to anything that I've said."

Marcus leaned toward her slightly, resting his elbow on the table. His large hand clenched into a fist. "I know," he said. "You deserve better than that."

Something deliciously warm spread through her belly, urging her to drift closer to him, but before she could decide what to do about it, the door opened.

Marcus shifted back in his seat as his assassin with the tattooed face came through the door, shaking his head. "Marcus, my friend you are completely hopeless. We finally return to the capitol with all of its entertainment and amusements, and you end up in the library." The elf's brows lifted, and his grin doubled in size as he shifted his gaze to her. Zevran dropped into an elaborate bow. "Although perhaps not as hopeless as I thought if such beautiful women are to be found in dusty places such as this. I must visit libraries more often, it seems."

The mage's tone was wry. "Was there something that you needed?"

"There are many things that I need. Women, wine, but mostly sovereigns, because as you know, the information you require for your Landsmeet does not come cheap."

Marcus reached into the folds of his long robes and withdrew a purse. The coins inside clinked as he tossed it to the elf. "Take Leliana with you and stay out of trouble. And Zev, the Pearl is not on the way to the Alienage."

The elf pulled a face. "Marcus, you wound me. I would not be so derelict in my duty." He hefted an over dramatic sigh. "Although, Isabella's ship is in port…"

"Scout out the Alienage. Report to me in the morning, and let me know what you find."

"You are such a cruel task master, but I will do as you bid while you sit here in comfort and worship at the feet of a goddess."

Marcus's amusement was laced in his voice. "Good."

The elf turned to leave, but then reached into one of his pouches and handed the Warden something small that was wrapped in velvet cloth. "Oh, I almost forgot. These came from the Wonders of Thedas for you."

"Excellent. Thank you."

The mage unwrapped the small package as the assassin left, and pulled out the absolute last thing Anora would have expected. The spectacles were delicate and gold rimmed, and looked like they might break any second underneath his large hands.

Anora's brows lifted. "You wear spectacles?"

"I'm afraid so. All of the years in the tower reading books by candlelight has taken a toll it seems."

It should not have been easy to picture this man hunched over a pile of dusty tomes. Marcus was enormous, nearly as large as the Qunari he traveled with, and looked like he belonged on a farm pushing a plow. And yet she could see the image of it clearly in her mind, of this educated man with his ink stained hands frowning over an ancient book as he read late into the night, and it was completely and utterly endearing.

He picked up the spectacles and stood, moving over to one of the bookshelves. "Wynne insisted that I start wearing them to read after I nearly got everyone killed."

At her questioning look, he continued. "It was when the Circle was overrun by demons. When we went to face Uldred, there was a liturgy I needed to read to stop the abominations from coming, and I couldn't make out the words. It was Wynne who ended up doing the chant at the very last moment."

"Why haven't I seen you wear them before?"

His face remained blank but his tone turned wry. "Because they were broken when I was captured and taken to Fort Drakon."

"Oh." Chagrin washed over her, as she remembered how she lied to Cauthrien after her presence had been revealed and the battle that had followed. She twisted her hands in her lap. "Once again, I am sorry for that. I should have trusted your motives."

This time she surprised herself by actually meaning the apology.

He shrugged. "Well, that was partially my fault," he said, as slipped the spectacles on.

She expected the spectacles to look utterly ridiculous on this man with the broad shoulders and plain face, but they suited him completely and utterly. Reason and sense and prudence fled. Anora couldn't do anything but stare, as the desire she had been trying to hold back washed over her unchecked.

Maker help her, but she wanted him.

"You asked me not to reveal your presence and I should have listened, but I was," he cleared his throat and turned to the books on the shelves, "distracted."

She stood and steadied herself with her hand on the table, intending to do the sensible thing and bolt out the door but unable to bring herself to do it, because all she could see was the moment she met him and the dumbfounded way that he'd stared at her when the door had opened. At the time, she had been confused by his reaction and dismissed him as a simpleton, which in hindsight was a terrible mistake. Marcus had looked at her the exactly the same way that she was looking at him right now, and it finally occurred to her that it might be for the same reason.

"Distracted by what?" she breathed.

His broad shoulders tensed under the fabric of his robes. For a moment he just stood there, the flat of his hand resting against the spines of the books, and she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he turned to face her, his intense gaze magnified by the spectacles he wore.

"By you," he said. "I was… distracted by you."

Anora blinked. Even though it was she'd hoped he'd say, even though the words spoke to the lonely ache that had been in her chest for years, she still cursed her own weakness and foolishness.

To dally with this man was beyond dangerous, both to her claim to the throne and her own personal safety. He was a mage, she was a Queen and they had a nation to save. And yet, she couldn't bring to her lips the necessary words to discourage him.

The best she could manage under the circumstances was a neutral, "I see."

The silence stretched as he continued to study her through his spectacles. "I have offended you," he said, as his jaw tightened.

It was a way out, one that if she were wise, she would take. But wisdom, it seemed, was in short supply. She could not allow him to believe that she thought ill of him.

"No," she said. "I am not offended, Marcus."

He blinked and his face softened into something that looked like wry chagrin. "No doubt the admiration of men is something you're used to."

"I have had my share of compliments from ambitious men since Cailan's death, yes."

Whispered words and false promises from men who thought she was fool enough to place them on the empty throne beside her. Men who thought to wait out her father's regency and be handed the reins of a nation because of some pretty words and sparkling baubles.

Marcus's face went blank and his voice did not rise, but nonetheless it was clear that she had wounded him. "I am not those men. I have no expectations or demands of you other than your help to end this blight."

"I didn't mean to imply that you did." She twisted her hands. "What I meant is that I am used to complements, but not sincerity. You leave me at a loss, Warden."

He moved toward her, stopping just short of her. His brows lifted over the golden frame of his spectacles. "I don't believe that. There must be many other men who have noticed how amazing you are."

Heat spread through her belly at his words. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I think I intimidate most men. I am certain that I intimidated even Calian at times, and he knew me my entire life."

Usually it worked to her advantage. There were times that she even found it useful. Anora would much rather be listened to than fawned over, but she had learned the hard way that it was not a reaction that she desired from the husband who, despite his glaring flaws, she had loved. She suspected that it was the reason he had sought the bed of others so often.

Marcus took her hand in his, her slender fingers engulfed in his large hand, and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Any man who cannot appreciate your intelligence as well as your beauty is unworthy of you."

Sparks of heat skittered across her skin. With the courtly gesture finished, he should have dropped her hand, but instead he turned it over, and pressed his lips to her palm.

She was overwhelmed by the intimacy. Heat seared through her palm straight to her core. Anora's knees threatened to buckle, but she didn't pull away, not even when he pressed his lips to the soft skin at the pulse point of her wrist.

Anora grazed his jaw with her slender fingers and pulled her hand back enough to brush her thumb across his lip. She wasn't certain whether she drew him down to her, or he closed the distance on his own but the next thing she knew his mouth was on hers.

His kiss was neither the tentative brush of lips she expected, nor the gentle and affectionate familiarity that her husband's had been. It was a hungry and intense demand as Marcus's quiet stoicism crumbled away. Anora responded to his passion in kind, kissing him back and curling her fingers into the fabric of his robes and pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her, until the length of his body was pressed against hers in a way that left no doubt of the strength of his desire.

She gasped as the cool metal of his spectacles brushed the tender skin under her ear as his lips swept to the column of her neck and to her earlobe. Pleasure warred with frustration. He was too tall for her to wind her arms around his neck the way that she wanted or to taste his skin. All she could do was breathe in the scent of clean male and autumn leaves until he claimed her lips again.

Finally Marcus pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. His brown eyes were hazy behind his spectacles. "We have to stop."

She knew he was right, but for the life of her she couldn't think why, so she pulled him back into another kiss. His hands slid up her sides, until his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. She moaned and arched into his palm.

He pulled back again, this time placing his large hands on her shoulders and moving her back until her backside hit the table behind her. Marcus swallowed and then spoke in a hoarse voice. "Anora, if we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here on this table."

That he wanted her that badly brought a purely feminine curl of satisfaction to her belly, but it was tempered with the knowledge that anyone could walk in on them at any moment.

She nodded and moved back farther, cursing herself for her stupidity. "You're right, if Eamon found us…" Anora had no doubt that the Arl would have no scruples about using a lapse in chastity against her. For a King with a noble bloodline, dalliances were expected. For a commoner Queen, even a dowager one, dalliances were treason. But her disappointment was quite profound, and the lonely ache in her chest burned cold once again as she struggled to compose herself. "But I wish…" She swallowed the rest of the words, knowing that it did not matter what she wished, the circumstances were what they were.

Marcus dropped his hands and rubbed his jaw. He looked at her with his intent gaze once again, and she could tell he was weighing something in his mind. "There is another way. Tonight, I can come to you."

She didn't know what to say. Whatever means of getting into her room that he could devise, no doubt magical, they were still under Eamon's roof. There would still be the chance of discovery, and thus the chance to lose everything. But maker preserve her, she wanted this man in her bed so badly that the thought of facing the night alone after what had just happened between them was unbearable.

He took her hand. "You are the one with the most to lose. This has to be your decision. If you decide that this is worth the risk, then leave your window open and I will come. If not, then I will understand and accept it." He set her hands free and nodded to the door. "You should go before anyone gets suspicious."

She nodded, and with one last longing look at the man that she wanted for a lover, she slipped through the door, not knowing what her decision was going to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Anora was not going to open the window.

It was a decision she'd come to minutes after leaving the Warden in the library. There was simply no other rational, practical choice to make.

She repeated this to herself many times over the course of the next few hours. When she found herself unable to eat and dismissed herself from dinner early. As she bathed in scented water, Erlina brushing and drying Anora's hair by the fire until it fell in golden waves to her waist. As she chose the most becoming of Isolde's borrowed sleeping gowns. While she dismissed her handmaiden, locked the door, and blew out the candles so the only light in the bedchamber was the soft glow of the fire in the hearth. Until there was nothing left to do in the silence of the night except pace before the closed window and war with her traitorous heart.

Anora lost track of the number of times she resolved to turn in to bed, each time balking at the thought of spending the night alone, but eventually she found herself still before the window with her hand on the cold glass. With a defeated sigh she lifted the latch and opened the casement. The cold autumn wind washed over her, blowing her hair behind her as she peered out into the dark courtyard below. She wrapped her arms about her middle, shivering as she waited.

Nothing happened. Several minutes passed in cold, underwhelming silence. She studied the wall below the window, but the drop was sheer and there no handholds or vines that he could climb upon that she could see.

Chilled and feeling more than a bit foolish, she moved back to the fireplace and pulled a shawl about her shoulders. Anticipation distorted time, making the few minutes that passed seem like a small eternity, allowing doubt to creep in – not about how foolish she was being, because she was already well aware of that – but that the mage had changed his mind and decided she was not worth the extra complication. Or worse, that she had waited too long and he'd given up entirely.

But just as her stomach dropped to her toes at that thought, there was a flurry of movement by the window. Anora's eyes widened when the great white owl flew into the room. She fell back a few steps, dropped the shawl and reached for the iron poker next to the hearth, wondering whether she should shout for help from the guards. There was a crackle of power that charged the room and then the owl became a man, causing another gasp.

"Maker's Breath," she said as she lowered the poker.

Marcus moved to the locked door, placing his palms against the wood as he murmured some words she could not make out. Anora regained her scattered wits, crossed the room and fumbled to latch the window, drawing the heavy curtains over the leaded glass. She turned back just in time to see the glowing white rune fade into the heavy wooden door.

He walked over to her and gently took the iron poker that she didn't realize she was still clutching in a white knuckled grip, setting it aside. His eyes were creased with worry behind the spectacles he still wore. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Power still thrummed around him, striking home that this man was dangerous. She could feel the magic humming across his skin when he took her hands, but she didn't pull away. "No. I am an idiot. I should have realized the owl was you. I didn't know that was possible."

"It is..." He paused and frowned. "…not something they teach in the Tower, but useful nonetheless." His lips twitched slightly as he shifted closer. "Although this is the first time I've ever used it to sneak into a woman's bedchamber."

She arched an eyebrow as her eyes darted to the door. "But not the first time you've used magic to stay undetected while with a lover."

His tone turned wry. "With the Templars always watching, you learn to get creative when you want privacy. The ward will warn me if anyone tries to enter tonight."

She let out a breath. "That is reassuring," she said, relaxing only a bit. Anora was still all nerves and sparking anticipation. Maker help her, she hadn't been this nervous when she'd come to Cailan as a maiden on her wedding night. Then again she suspected the comfortable familiarity of knowing Cailan his whole life and a liberal amount of wine had helped ease the process considerably.

The way Marcus was kneading her hands wasn't helping. The delicious ache that spread through her body at his touch was unsettling as it was pleasurable.

His brows knit over the rims of his spectacles. "You don't look very reassured. If you've changed your mind now that you've seen my magic -"

Anora pulled one of her hands away, brushing the tips of her fingers over his lips to silence him. "I haven't." She met his gaze. "It's not your magic, Marcus. It's that it's been a long time since I've been with a man and I have never taken a lover. I am simply nervous."

The lines around his eyes smoothed out. He slid his free hand into her unbound hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist pulling her close. He bent and nuzzled the skin of her temple, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me what I can do to put you at ease."

She swallowed and pulled him down, murmuring the words against his lips. "The last thing I want right now is to feel at ease."

Anora kissed him, putting every ounce of her need and want and hunger into the embrace. He responded by crushing her against his body and kissing her back. When he broke away and began to taste her skin again, everything went hot and hazy. She clung to his broad shoulders as he nipped her ear. Anora wanted to howl in frustration when she was thwarted by his height once again. And when his callused, ink stained hands slid over the silk nightshift instead of her bare skin, she couldn't contain the frustrated sound from escaping her throat.

"Then tell me what you want," he said.

"Bed," she gasped. "I want you in bed."

"Right." He lifted her, carrying her to the bed as he kissed her, still kissing her when they sank down into the soft bedding together.

The hard length of his body settled over hers. Anora's hands roamed across the fabric of his robes as she searched for the clasps, wanting to explore the firm muscle underneath. But when Marcus found the hem of her shift and pushed a hand underneath, her concentration shattered. She whimpered into his mouth as hand slid up the back of her thigh to her backside, slipping underneath her smallclothes and kneading the curve with his strong hand.

It had been nearly two years since a man had his hand on her skin that way, and Cailan's hands were never like this. As much time as her husband spent training with his guardsmen, Cailan hadn't used his hands to keep himself alive every single day fighting the blight. Where Cailan's palms had been smooth and unmarked, the Warden's were rough and hard and felt even more sensual on her skin than she'd ever imagined. Dizzy with pleasure, she thought she might come apart just from the sensation of his calluses scraping against her soft skin.

But it wasn't nearly enough. His hips were cradled between her thighs and Anora could feel his arousal even through all of the cloth between them. It was absolutely maddening to be this close to him and yet still not be able to touch him the way that she wanted. The infernal garment covered him from his neck and arms down to his ankles and Anora cursed whoever had designed it.

Marcus shifted his weight and withdrew his hand and for a moment he was going to move back and disrobe, but then his hand was between her thighs, under her small clothes again and his fingertips were teasing her slick heat. She broke the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back against the mattress while he watched her writhe under his touch from behind the glass of his spectacles.

Pleasure uncoiled in her belly. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tugged at the material. She swallowed hard and tried to regain her composure. "This is quite inequitable, Marcus."

He bent down to nuzzle the delicate lines of her collarbone, and she could feel his lips twitching into a smile against her skin. "I was under the impression that you were finding this rather agreeable."

"But you are not undressed," she said, trying and failing to keep the frustration from her words. "I cannot touch you."

A rumble of pleased laughter vibrated from his chest, the sound producing another curl of desire that was just as heady and potent as what his hand was doing to her body. His fingers intensified the stroke and her hips bucked in response. Anora bit her lip to keep the moan from falling from her lips.

"In a moment, I promise," he said in between trailing kisses to the hollow of her throat.

The pad of his thumb joined his fingers. Anora opened her mouth to argue with him further and insist that she get her way now, but whatever she was going to say dissolved into a moan as her body betrayed her.

She was well aware of how to pleasure herself, she had done so recently in an attempt to master her desire for the Grey Warden in fact, but it was nothing to having the man himself touching her. Anora's eyes fluttered shut as she quaked under his relentless hand. It didn't take long before molten pleasure melted through her, turning her boneless underneath his weight.

By the time she regained her wits enough to open her eyes he'd moved off the bed and was shrugging off the long, heavy robe. Other than a small vial that dangled from a slender gold chain, his chest was bare, and she could see a tantalizing blend of scars, hard muscle and a line of chest hair trailing to his breeches.

But before she could inspect further, he turned and sat on the bed. The firelight played off of his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back. Anora pushed herself to her knees, determined to press the advantage. In one movement, she pulled the nightshift over her head. In another, she slid out of her small clothes, so that by the time he had removed a boot, she was pressing her palms against his back. She heard his breath hitch when her slender fingers trailed over muscle and sinew. His body was all hard lines and firm angles, the body of a warrior, and despite his size he was all lean muscle.

She shifted closer enticed by the scent of clean male and autumn leaves, pressing her lips to the crook of his neck right below the gold chain encircling it. Her body slid against his and when her breasts brushed against his back, the boot he was holding fell to the floor with a thud.

"Now this," she said, her lips curving in satisfaction, "is much better."

He reached for his other boot with hands that weren't entirely steady. "But now I am the one at an inequitable disadvantage as I cannot see you."

It took her a moment to respond since she was busy tasting his shoulders and exploring the planes of his back with her hands. When she spoke her tone was unrepentantly tart. "You shall have to endure the deprivation. I have waited far too long to relinquish my advantage."

His eyes crinkled at the edges betraying his amusement. He jerked the other boot off. "Really?"

"Mmm, yes. Days, in fact." Maker, it had seemed like so much longer. She reached around his sides until she could skim his abdomen with her palms, then lower. The other boot fell to the floor when she tugged the laces of his breaches.

He cleared his throat as she worked the laces loose. She could feel the muscles of his back tense up against her skin. "How many days?"

"I'm not quite sure. You took me by surprise."

Upon his escape from Fort Drakon, Anora had prepared to face the Warden's wrath. But instead of useless anger and threats, they'd cleared the air with brutal frankness that she'd greatly appreciated. Marcus had put her on notice that he was not to be trifled with again, laid out firmly what he was and was not willing to do, and declared his support for her claim. Once she realized that Marcus's mind was as sharp as his blade, she was done for.

"Your spectacles made everything worse," she admitted.

Even from the side, she could see his brows knit together in confusion. "My spectacles? I had forgotten that I was even wearing them." He reached for the frames on his face.

"No, don't," Anora breathed. She covered his fingers with hers to stop him. "Don't take them off."

His lips turned up at one corner. "I take it you like them then."

Anora could feel her face heat, quite glad that he was not facing her. She returned her hand to the pressing task of unlacing his breaches. "Yes, very much."

His surprised delight was laced in his voice. "I had no idea. I thought I looked rather foolish in them, actually."

"Not at all. They're quite…" Anora paused while she worked her hand under his loose breaches and smallclothes to the hard length underneath. His hips jerked under her fingers at her touch. "…attractive. Your spectacles suit you."

She freed him from his pants, encircling the tip of him with her thumb, marveling at the feel of something so soft and yet so utterly male, gratified that Marcus's large size extended to all parts of his anatomy.

It took him a few seconds to form the words. He made a sound halfway between a rueful laugh and a moan. "If I had known you liked my spectacles so much, I would have told them to rush the repair."

He fell silent as Anora stroked him. The muscles of his neck tightened under her lips and his hands fisted in the sheets while his breathing grew heavy. But Anora knew she could do much, much better.

Anora withdrew her hands to the waist of the breaches tugging them down. "Now these you may remove."

He lifted his hips enough that they could slide the garments down his backside and legs. While he was occupied with kicking them off to the side, Anora moved again, this time off the bed, kneeling between his legs. She took him into her mouth and watched pleasure scour into the remains of his calm stoicness from underneath her long lashes.

He swallowed hard and groaned, the sound encouraging her more. Eventually his brown eyes went hazy behind the glass of his spectacles and he buried his hands into her unbound hair. Marcus moaned again, this time her name, and she continued to taste him, reveling that this powerful, intelligent and attractive man was finally at her mercy.

But not for long. Marcus jerked her to her feet and up onto the bed with him. She wasn't certain if it was by accident or design that she ended up sprawled across his chest, but she didn't waste her chance, shifting to straddle him. Marcus's rough hands grabbed her hips, and with a thrust he was inside of her.

Overwhelmed by the delicious friction, Anora tipped her head back and choked out, "Oh, yes."

His fingers dug into her skin while he moved. Marcus wasn't gentle, but Anora didn't want him to be. After two years of lonely nights in a cold, empty bed, her need was too great for that. She matched his rhythm with each rock of her hips, unbearable pleasure and anticipation building between her thighs.

Marcus groaned when she raked her nails through the hair that covered his chest and trailed to his belly. He pulled her down into a kiss that left her lips swollen and bruised. Her golden hair spilled around them, across both of their bodies and he plunged his other hand into her wavy tresses, his hand tightening into a possessive fist. His mouth moved from plundering her lips to tasting her breasts, the cool metal frames of his spectacles grazing her hot skin, sending more shockwaves of pleasure through her body until she couldn't bear it anymore.

Anora pushed herself up, her palms flat on his scar covered chest and arched back. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drank in the pleasure, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her taut body, in the tension of his chest under her hands and in the urgency of his rough caresses.

Soaring with pleasure, she claimed the man beneath her with each rock of her hips and every gasped breath. But opening her eyes was her undoing. When she saw the way he looked at her, how his raw passion was reflected in the spectacles he still wore, the heat in her belly uncoiled making her cry out and tremble until she collapsed against his chest.

She clung to him as he continued to thrust, his large frame quaking underneath her. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest, kissing her again, until he broke away with a groan. Marcus's hips jerked as he buried himself deep inside of her, spilling his seed.

His arms relaxed enough that she could breathe again. Her ear was to his chest and she could hear his racing heart calm and feel him catch his panting breath. Anora soaked in the feel of his body. The sensation of being held by a man was another experience she hadn't had in too long.

Eventually she looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest and sighing, "I should move."

He reached for one of the pillows, propping his head up so he could meet her gaze. There was something intense and dangerous in the soft way he was looking at her. His other arm tightened around her waist again. "Don't."

She looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. "If I stay, I'm going to end up falling asleep right here."

He shifted slightly, grabbing a fistful of blankets and pulling them over their still entwined bodies. "Exactly. Let me hold you tonight," he murmured.

"Marcus, one of us is going to have to be sensible about this." And she decided it was going to have to be him since she couldn't seem to scrape the willpower to move away from the warmth of his body.

He frowned. "Our actions already bend to the sensibilities other people enough. This may not be possible in the future, so we should make the most of tonight. I will be sure to be gone long before your handmaiden returns in the morning, I promise."

Her spine stiffened. "You will not return tomorrow night?"

Marcus ran a callused hand along the curve of her back. "I plan on returning as often as I can, for as long as you want me, but we're fighting a blight while trying to hold this country together and prevent a civil war. We both have duties. I have more battles to fight that I may not live through while you…" His own pain was laid bare in his brown eyes, flashing against the glass of his spectacles. "…you know what you may have to do to hold this country together."

Anora held his gaze, knowing that her own grief was plain on her face. They had never spoken of it directly. Nevertheless, that she might have to marry Alistair was something that they both understood. It was such an obvious solution, a way to quickly unify their increasingly divided nation, that even though her heart rebelled at the notion, her mind could not dismiss it.

Still the arguments welled up in her throat. That she did not need Maric's bastard son to rule. That he looked too much like Cailan that it hurt. That it was unfair and unjust that the moment she finally found something for herself, she might have to give it up for the good of the nation. That if she were to chose a man to sit on the throne next to her, it would Marcus and not Alistair.

But Marcus was both a mage and a commoner, and that could never be. That she was falling in love with this man and that she was certain that he loved her back did not matter. If marrying Maric's bastard would unite the country, if it would help her retain her throne and end the blight, she knew she would do it and that Marcus would help her.

"You're right," she said, finally, swallowing her grief, determined to make the best of the situation they'd been handed. It would do no good to dwell on a future that had not happened yet. "We should make the most of the time we have."

Anora reached up and removed Marcus's spectacles, placing them on the nightstand before turning back and kissing his face. His arms tightened around her and he kissed her back, sighing when she settled back against his chest, both savoring what they'd just found and what might have to be given up, talking long into the night about inconsequential things that mattered only to them before eventually being overtaken by sleep.


End file.
